


Unchanged

by Phlogistics



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Rebellion Story Spoilers, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phlogistics/pseuds/Phlogistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You always seem so mysterious, Homura-chan,” Madoka says softly, as if she’s afraid saying it too loudly will offend her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unchanged

_A pair of laughing ballerinas twist through the coffee shop._

 

“You always seem so mysterious, Homura-chan,” Madoka says softly, as if she’s afraid saying it too loudly will offend her. She glances at Homura, but whatever she sees when their eyes meet makes her blush, and she quickly goes back to fiddling with her napkin, folding and refolding the paper until it frays. “Sometimes it seems like you already know everything about me, but I feel like I hardly know you at all. You were the first person to reach out to me when I came here, and somehow I just know we could be really amazing friends, but…”

“But?” The quiet inquiry makes Madoka’s head shoot up again, and her eyes are shining like she’s holding back tears.

“But it seems like you’re very far away, Homura-chan, and I think I must look very small to you,” she blurts out. Immediately she looks embarrassed, and she pulls the napkin into her lap, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. Bits of tissue paper scatter onto the floor.

 

_A dancer flings her arms wide, knocking a teacup to the ground. Her partner laughs harder, leaping over the mess and onto a table, bringing more china crashing to the floor._

Homura’s gaze fixes sharply on Madoka. “Don’t say that.”

Madoka sinks into her seat, wilting under the increased attention. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just that I don’t have any special talents or any reason to stand out to you when you’re so amazing at everything,” she admits, a small, resigned smile on her face. “You’re good at sports and school, and you’re so pretty and cool—and I’m really only average, maybe even worse than that because transferring put me so far behind everyone else. Maybe I could have been somebody special if I were different, but now…”

“That isn’t true!” Homura snaps, kicking out her chair and rounding the table. She grabs Madoka’s shoulders and pleads, voice rough, “Please, stop always saying things like that!” She shakes Madoka—more violently than she’d intended to, and Madoka looks up at her with something like fear _recognition_ in her eyes.

Homura recoils, muttering an apology, and retreats back to her seat. Madoka shifts uncomfortably.

Eventually, Homura says, the words halting and stiff: “This you is the best you.” Her clenched hands are nearly the same white as the tablecloth. “Even if this can’t last, you should appreciate the person that you are now. There are many people that love you and would be sad if you changed.”

_The ballerinas spin each other, giggling as their painted mouths press together in a facsimile of a kiss._

 

A soft hand tentatively covers hers, and Homura gasps quietly. Madoka still doesn’t meet her eyes and her cheeks are bright red, but she holds Homura’s hand tenderly, her thumb moving in a slow caress. “I don’t think I could ever change so much knowing it would hurt you like that, Homura-chan,” she murmurs. She twines their fingers together, a genuine smile blooming on her lips. “Somehow, that just doesn’t seem right.”

Homura squeezes her hand tightly. _“Is that a promise?”_

Madoka freezes.

Homura loosens her grip, bringing up her other hand to cradle Madoka’s. More gently, she repeats, “Is that a promise?”

“I—I suppose so,” Madoka stammers uneasily. She shakes her head and finds her smile again, though it seems to take more effort this time. “I don’t know if that’s the sort of promise a person can really make, but I’ll try. Even if I don’t always understand you, you’re very precious to me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m glad,” Homura replies.

She lifts Madoka’s hand towards her lips, and her elbow knocks over her used teacup, pushing it off the edge of the table to shatter on the tile.

“Do you like ballet, Homura-chan?” Madoka asks suddenly.

 

_The ballerinas lay still and broken._

 

Homura smiles widely, pulling Madoka up from her seat and towards the door of the coffee shop. She stumbles, crying out as she struggles to find her balance and keep up with Homura. “H-Homura-chan? Where are we going?”

Playing absently with hear earring, Homura doesn’t respond.


End file.
